The Torture of Not Knowing
by Eady of Old
Summary: S4 AU. After overhearing the conversation in the hallway between Mrs. Hughes and Anna, Bates decides that he does not need to find out Anna's secret. At least not right away. Last chapter rated "M"
1. Chapter 1

**Summary**: S4 AU. After overhearing the conversation in the hallway between Mrs. Hughes and Anna, Bates decides that he does not need to find out Anna's secret. At least not right away.

**Disclaimer**: Despite pulling some dialogue from the show, I do not own Downton Abbey or these characters. Apply usual boilerplate.

**A/N**: So I seem to be obsessed with re-writing the season 4 storyline. I think a lot of people have expressed displeasure in not only the storyline for Anna and Bates in season/series 4 but also in where the focus went. So this is another AU version picking up around the time of the conversation Bates overhears in the hallway between Anna and Mrs. Hughes.

Reviews are appreciated.

* * *

His mother had always told him not to eavesdrop. Eavesdroppers never hear anything good about themselves, she'd said. In this instance, his mother was right.

Whatever the secret Anna was keeping from him - the one which drove her so far away from him that she moved out of the cottage and could barely stand to be in the same room with him - she believed he could not handle knowing it.

"I know him. I know what he'd do," John heard her tell Mrs. Hughes. She added emotionally, "I can't risk his future."

Her statement implied violence on his part. Violence against Anna? How could she ever think...

John took a shuddering breath as he struggled to conceive of an explanation for Anna's words as well as her strange behavior. She shied away from him at every opportunity. In fact, she barely spoke to anyone anymore, always throwing herself into her work.

Even when Mrs. Hughes suggested that Anna lie to him, to tell him _something_, she'd refused, saying instead that he would know if she lied.

_He can read me like a book._

To echo Mrs. Hughes response, if only he could read her, if only he could figure out the root of this terrible secret which had stolen her away from him. It was precisely that secret that kept them separated.

And she feared him.

He could see it so clearly now.

Anna thought he would hurt her. She thought he would physically hurt her. He had trouble breathing as he processed this foreign concept.

She feared him, feared that he would commit violence against her when he found out her secret. The knowledge pierced his heart more effectively than a sharp knife and the pain of it made him want to cry out. How could she think he'd ever do such a thing? He could not bear to even see her in pain, let alone be the cause of it.

She had to know he would never do such a thing, no matter what. Not Anna. Not his Anna, whom he'd pledged to love and protect and provide for all his life. She had to understand...

Finding Anna in the boot room later, John decided that, having nothing else to lose, he needed to try one last desperate tactic. He approached her slowly, although her quick glance in his direction alerted her to his presence. She continued with her work, not bothering to acknowledge him.

"You don't have to tell me," he said softly.

"Tell you what?" Anna asked, confused.

"What's bothering you. I won't ask you about it anymore, I promise. You don't have to tell me unless you want to."

She met his declaration with silence.

Pressing on, John said, "But I need you know that I would never hurt you. Never, Anna. No matter what the secret is, no matter what you ever say or do, please know that under no circumstances would I ever harm you."

His mother had always warned him to never say never, but this was one time when he felt he could safely challenge that adage.

"You don't have to be close to me, not like we were," he continued, forcing the words out through the pain. "But you don't have to be afraid of me."

When she finally spoke, her voice sounded small and hollow. "I'm not afraid of you."

John could not suppress a smile at her statement. "Good," he told her. "At least that's a start."

She retreated then with a comment about having to run an errand for Lady Mary in Ripon. As she left, she told him, "I'll be back before the gong."

"Then maybe I can see you later," he responded, letting the words hang as either a question or a statement.

Anna only looked at him for a second before making a tight motion with her neck which might have been a nod.

* * *

She let him sit across from her at dinner. Determined not to abuse the privilege and spook her, John looked at her as little as possible during the meal. The few times he risked sneaking a glance, she seemed more relaxed than she'd been at breakfast, and he could only hope it had something to do with their conversation.

The highlight of the dinner came close to the end, when he allowed himself a quick look across at Anna and chanced upon her looking back at him. John expected her to turn away, perhaps even to leave the room entirely. But instead, she gave him a small, shy smile.

Later that evening, after the family and all the other servants had gone to bed, he found her in the boot room again, polishing shoes that already gleamed bright and clean.

"Are you ever going to finish that?" he asked her gently. "It's nearly midnight."

"Someone has to do it," she returned tartly.

"But it doesn't always have to be you," John told her. To emphasize his point, he held out his hand.

She paused in her work to look at the offered palm and then up at him. "Let me help," he said, gesturing to the shoe.

As if caught in a trance, Anna slowly handed over the heel and brush. He rewarded her with a smile as he took the items and began polishing in earnest. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her watch him for a moment, perhaps making certain that he would not do anything else, before turning her attention to the other shoe.

They worked like that side-by-side for about twenty minutes before John could honestly say that the shoe he was brushing had not ever been cleaner or better polished, not even when it was brand new. He set it down in front of Anna along with the brush. And he waited patiently for her to finish the heel in her hands.

For several minutes, she ignored him completely. But after a while, she finally set her own heel next to its mate. "Thank you," she told him softly.

"Any time," he answered. He stayed in place as she stowed the shoes away in a cubby for Lady Mary's use the next time she wanted them. When she turned back in his direction, he asked softly, "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

Obviously still tense, Anna just shook her head. "It's late," she said. "We should probably both be in bed."

He wanted to ask her to come home to the cottage with him, to their home and _their _bed. But he knew that doing so would only destroy the tiny bit of progress he'd made with her.

"Then I'll say goodnight."

* * *

The next day followed much the same routine. John met her at the stairs, but only for a quick good morning. He tried to converse with her, but not as the married couple they used to be. Rather, he treated this fragile, timid Anna like he might an injured animal, encouraging but not pushing her. He delighted in their small conversations and felt his heart nearly burst with happiness with the first few smiles she offered.

He helped her with what work he could, but John soon found that like the mirror-polished shoes, most of the tasks that kept her away from others or up until all hours of the night were mostly made up busy-work. She mended dresses which were barely torn and polished jewelry which was already clean. But he did not challenge her on the work, not once. Any excuse to be near her, he accepted gratefully and without question.

After a week, she made a request, one of her first unsolicited conversations with him since all this trouble had begun.

"I need to get something from the cottage, something I forgot. Do you mind if I pop down there after dinner tonight?" Anna asked carefully.

"Not at all," he answered, resisting the urge to remind her it was still her home - their home. "Is it something I can get for you and bring tomorrow, so you don't have to walk so far?"

She shook her head. "No, I can get it."

Ignoring the desire for an opportunity to finally have a moment alone with his wife, John studiously stayed away from the cottage during the time he knew she'd be there. If she really was overcoming some sort of fear of him, then cornering her in the tiny space would not help matters. But when he did return to their home that night, his curiosity got the best of him as he searched the cottage for whatever item she retrieved.

After a half hour of looking through each room, he finally figured out what she must have come for, or at least one thing she had taken back with her.

A small framed photo of them together, the one she kept on the night stand on her side of the bed, was missing.

* * *

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I'm kind of sweeping over the whole "Bates doesn't go to America with Lord Grantham" thing to suit myself. I'll invoke artistic license and presume that Mrs. Hughes and Lady Mary could arrange things behind Anna and Bates' backs so that they were never the wiser. I'm probably also playing fast and loose with the S4 timeline but que sera sera.**

**Thanks to everyone who left me feedback on the first chapter. Reviews are wonderful.**

* * *

Gradually, as the days passed, Anna became more used to his presence. She no longer left a room when he entered or got up from a meal if he sat next to her. But these concessions he purchased at the cost of greeting her with a simple nod or a small smile instead of saying her name, his tone full of loss and sorrow. He traded nights full of passion alone in their cottage for nights in the boot room, standing next to her in silence as they worked.

But John was grateful, ever so grateful. He could tell from her expressions when he spoke to her that she did still love him. And he guessed that the ever-present fear he saw in her was rooted in some other issue than him, but he could never be sure. As much as her eyes betrayed when Anna did look at him, they concealed much as well.

"Perhaps we could go to dinner," he suggested one evening as they worked late in the boot room.

"Dinner?" she asked, confused. They ate at dinner together in the servants' hall nearly every night. Of course, not so much together as next to or across from each other, with little conversation and no touching, but still...

"A night out, away from here," John elaborated. "Perhaps at the hotel in Ripon. I'm sure Lord Grantham and Lady Mary wouldn't mind."

"I don't know..."

"Just think about it," he told her. "It doesn't have to be soon, but maybe when you're feeling more comfortable. I'd like to treat you."

John let the matter drop when she said nothing else. He'd learned not to push her in this as she would give no ground. Instead, he focused on the things he knew he could say to her.

"How does Lady Mary get on?"

A safe topic, seemingly. "Fairly well. I think she's enjoying getting her hands dirty with running the estate," Anna said.

"And is Lord Gillingham still keen on her?"

"He seems to be. Although he's going about it too soon, if you ask me. She's not yet over Mr. Matthew."

Not even a year had passed since Matthew Crawley's death, John knew. And yet Lady Mary was the type of woman to bring out the suitors even when she was still in mourning.

"How long do you think she'll wait?" he asked.

Anna shrugged. "I couldn't say. I imagine it would be different for every woman. Lady Mary might remarry in a year or two. Whereas..."

She stopped herself short, as though realizing she'd slipped into a natural conversation with her husband and was about to reveal some piece of herself, a piece she would have shared willingly with him before, but now kept hidden.

Keeping his eyes deliberately on his work, John prompted gently, "Whereas?"

He could hear the falter in her voice as she said quietly, "Whereas other women would never move on."

He knew without asking that Anna countered herself among the 'other women' to whom she referred. But the obvious love and suffering in her tone confused him greatly. If she still loved him, why was she putting herself through this? Why was she keeping herself apart from him?

"Lady Mary is still young," John pointed out. "I'm sure Mr. Matthew would want her to find happiness. As would any husband."

Agitated at their conversation, Anna ignored his comment. She quickly finished her work and stowed her tools away. "I have to go," she told him, and he could see she was near tears.

"I'm sorry if I've upset you," he began.

"You haven't upset me. I just can't..." A lone tear escaped the corner of her eye and slid down her cheek. "I can't talk about this," Anna said.

And she was gone.

* * *

When he saw her again the next morning, waiting for her once again at the base of the stairs, Anna had collected herself from the night before. She even allowed him a rare smile.

"I hope you slept well," he told her. The dark circles under her eyes were beginning to clear up and she seemed more at ease.

"I did, thank you."

"I hope I'm not overstepping things again by saying you look lovely this morning, Anna," he ventured.

She did not respond, not really, but the coloring of her cheeks and the way she ducked her head slightly in embarrassment at his compliment was all the acknowledgment he needed. He followed her in to breakfast.

They rarely spoke much at meals, not anymore, but on this morning Anna made a genuine effort at conversation, asking him about how things fared at the cottage and how he was occupying himself with Lord Grantham in America.

"I have less to do, but I'm using the time to catch up on other tasks," John admitted. "But I'm glad he asked Thomas to go instead of me."

"I'd have thought you'd like to see America," Anna ventured.

John responded, "I've always thought seeing a place meant more if you were with the right company."

She looked away slightly at his comment but did not fall silent as she normally did. "Actually, you reminded me... I was thinking about what you said the other night about going out to dinner-"

A voice from the other side of the servants' table carried over to them, and Anna froze at the words, "...Lord Gillingham coming for another visit..."

He recognized the fear the moment it darkened her eyes. He saw the walls begin to slam up, walls he'd been carefully chipping away at for weeks, and every muscle in Anna's body seemed to tense.

"You were saying?" he asked her, hoping she might take up his dinner offer.

"I think its a bad idea," she said quickly, "At least for now. Maybe at some point in the future..."

Anna pushed herself back from the table as she added, "Excuse me, I have to attend Lady Mary."

And once again, she left him.

* * *

Mister Green entered the servants' hall like a hero returned from war, and John forced himself not to glare at the man. He'd been suspicious of the valet when he'd been at Downton before, but his jealousy had clouded matters too much for him to get a good feel for why he disliked Green. In the army he would have chalked it up to gut instinct, the way a cook can tell a bad egg from the others just by picking it up. Green made himself charming and agreeable to everyone, and yet he always carried an air of slyness about him, as though every word he spoke were a lie.

John kept an eye on him until a moment later when Anna entered the servants' hall. She stopped short as she recognized Mr. Green. Whatever discomfort she had shown with John in the past months, it was magnified tenfold in that one instance as she came face-to-face with the valet.

He watched as she said something to Miss Baxter about thread and then left the room again as fast as she could carry herself. So focused was John on Anna's departure that he almost missed seeing Mrs. Hughes get up from the table and leave in the direction Anna had fled.

With a glance at Green - his smug expression had slipped slightly as he spoke with others at the table - John stood up and followed the two women. He was once again confronted with his mother's warning against eavesdropping as he overheard them speaking in desperate whispers in the corridor.

"I'm sorry you were startled," Mrs. Hughes said. "I should have come and warned you that he'd arrived."

"No, I can't... I'm not sure if I can do this," Anna said, her voice full of unshed tears.

"Then tell Mister Bates. He will understand. He's been so patient with you..."

"I know he has," John's wife responded, sniffling. "And I can't bear to lose him. And if I tell him - if he finds out - I'll lose him one way or another."

He could not see either of their faces, but he could hear the concern in Mrs. Hughes voice as she attempted, "You don't know that he'll do what you think-"

"But I do," Anna insisted. "I do know. You don't understand how much he loves me, Mrs. Hughes, and what this will do to him."

"I know that keeping this secret is destroying you," the housekeeper told her.

"I would rather it destroy me than him."

Bates could listen to no more. The pain in his wife's voice, the strain he knew she was under from this terrible secret - he could listen in silence no longer. He moved away from his place by the wall and walked around the corner as though coming upon the two women suddenly.

Anna's eyes met him in shock and panic, probably thinking he'd overheard her. Mrs. Hughes seemed almost happy to see him.

"Excuse me, I hope I'm not interrupting," John said, pretending as though he'd heard nothing of their conversation, "but I was hoping I could have a word with Anna for a moment."

Anna gaped at him for a long second before concocting an excuse, "I have to see to-"

"It'll be just for a moment," he encouraged gently, "and then I'll leave you to your errand." When Anna did not immediately refuse, he turned to Mrs. Hughes. "May we use your sitting room?"

"Of course."

Anna followed him into the housekeeper's room reluctantly, and she did not shut the door completely behind them, as though letting it latch might impede a necessary escape.

"What is it?" Anna asked curtly.

"I want to know what you need from me," he said honestly.

She blinked at him, her face contorting in confusion. "I don't understand."

"Tell me what you need from me, what you need me to do. Because I will do anything at all to help you, Anna. Anything you ask of me. I can leave, if it will make your life easier..."

"Leave Downton?" she questioned.

"For as long as you need me to," John assured her. "If being near me is so hard for you-"

But Anna was already shaking her head forcefully. "I don't want you to go," she stated firmly.

"Then tell me what I can do. Please," he begged. "If you won't tell me what's bothering you, at least tell me what I can do to make things easier."

He wanted to know the great secret which weighed her down and tore at her soul. He needed to know it, but at the same time, John also knew she wasn't ready to tell him. Fear still prevented her speaking, and he had to find a way to get around that fear, to prove to her that he would not do whatever horrible action she was so convinced he would take.

"I need you to leave me be," Anna said sharply, defensively.

"Haven't I done that?"

"Don't push me."

"I'm not. You know you don't have to tell me." She said nothing for a moment, and he went on, "What else can I do, Anna? Please tell me something I can do to help shoulder this burden you are carrying."

She would not meet his eyes. Folding her arms across her chest like a protective barrier, she focused her gaze on Mrs. Hughes' small tea table, and he could see the glimmer of moisture gathering in her eyes. The image of her struck him suddenly, so small and slim of a woman, moreso than she'd been just a few months earlier. Anna had lost weight, he knew, but for the first time he realized how much.

John wanted to wrap her in his arms, to offer her what comfort he could, but he knew she would bolt if he dared make the attempt. So he waited.

"You could do something for me," Anna said finally, hesitantly.

"Anything," he offered.

"May I stay tonight at the cottage?" she asked quietly, almost shamefully, as though the request betrayed a weakness of her character.

"Of course-"

"But you can't ask me why, and I won't be there more than a night. Maybe a couple of nights," she allowed.

"It is as much your home as mine," John assured her with a smile. "You can stay as long as you want."

Nodding her acceptance of his offer, Anna turned to leave the sitting room.

"Anna," he said, stopping her.

John wanted her to know that she could tell him anything. He already suspected that whatever secret she would not share involved the valet, Mr. Green, and that it caused her great shame. She also believed he would react with violence when he found out, if not to her than to someone.

The obvious thought was that Anna had engaged in an affair with Green during his previous stay. But every time the possibility came to mind, he dismissed it outright. Unfaithfulness was not in Anna's character.

She was looking at him questioning, her face as full of fear as when she'd seen Green earlier in the day, and he felt physical pain at her fright.

"May I walk you down to the cottage this evening?" he asked.

He watched the relief as it transformed her figure, relaxing her features and softening her edges. Favoring him with an almost-smile, Anna said with utter sincerity, "That would be lovely."

* * *

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: For this story, I'm going on the assumption that their tiny cottage doesn't have a spare room or if it does, they don't keep a spare bed considering they don't seem to get many visitors.**

**Thank you to those who have left feedback. I've always thought reviews are like chocolate to writers - we can live without them, but it isn't as much fun. Unless of course you're allergic to chocolate, in which case this metaphor doesn't work at all.**

* * *

Once at the cottage that evening, awkwardness set in between them. John watched as Anna looked around their sitting room, a place she hadn't visited since her brief return to get the framed picture. He'd kept the place relatively tidy in her absence, although a pile of books had accumulated on their table. Without Anna to talk to in the evenings, he filled his time with reading.

"Should I make tea?" he asked after lighting the lamp.

"That would be nice," Anna answered quickly.

John busied himself in the kitchen with the kettle, hoping that giving her a moment would put her more at ease. When he finally emerged with two cups of tea and a biscuit with each, he found her sitting at the table.

"Thank you," she said, accepting the cup.

They sat quietly for a long while before Anna finally broke the silence. "I was thinking about what you said earlier. About doing anything for me."

"I spoke truly," John assured her.

"Would you... would you commit a crime for me?" she asked hesitantly, almost sadly.

Carefully, he answered, "It depends on the crime."

"Would you ever..." Anna stopped and looked down at the cup of tea in her hands. "Could you ever see yourself killing someone in my name?"

Confused by the turn of the conversation, he looked at her more carefully. "I _am_ a convicted murderer," he stated blandly.

"But we both know you didn't kill Vera," she immediately returned, confirming that she did not harbor some nagging suspicion that he actually was guilty of his first wife's murder.

"If someone threatened you, or if someone hurt you, I suppose I might be compelled..."

John said the words softly, thoughtfully, as though he'd never before given the matter consideration. He counted the answer as not being an outright lie even though in truth, he would not hesitate to kill for either of those reasons. What innocence he'd retained from a difficult childhood he'd lost at war. And what scruples he had about obeying society's rules to the letter were stripped from him in prison. The code John lived by was one of his own creation - to let others be, for the most part, and to take care of his own.

And if that meant killing someone who threatened harm to his wife, then he would do it without a second thought, personal consequences to himself be damned.

"What if I asked you not to?"

John barely heard the question, Anna asked it so quietly. He noticed that she hadn't touched her biscuit even though they were her favorite kind.

"Is this about the secret you won't tell me?" John inquired, already knowing the answer.

"It isn't about anything," she evaded.

He watched her closely, the way the cup trembled in her hands, the force with which she blinked back her tears.

Did she fear he'd kill Green if he found out the two of them had engaged in an affair? Or was it something else?

"We should get to bed," Anna said, picking up her cup and taking it into the kitchen. John kept his eyes on her as she poured out the remainder of the tea and placed the untouched biscuit back in the jar.

"If that's what you want."

"It is what I want," she snapped. But in the next instance she softened, turning her head to the side in shame. "I'm sorry. You've done nothing to deserve that."

Unsure what to say, John offered, "I'll make up the couch and let you have the bed upstairs."

But Anna shook her head. "No, the couch is too small for you."

"It is too small for you as well," he pointed out.

"I won't evict you from your bed," she said hoarsely, and he could tell she was still near tears.

"Then let me make up a cot on the floor upstairs," he offered. That option would let him stay close to her but hopefully give her the distance from him that she needed.

Nodding, Anna said, "Yes, that should be fine."

While Anna prepared herself for bed, he changed and made up the cot on the floor with spare bedding from the linen closet. Taking a pillow from the bed to put with it, John left the rest of the pillows for Anna, knowing she preferred to sleep with several if given a choice. He completed the task stiffly, his knee making repeated bending difficult. Sleeping on the hard floor would be uncomfortable, even with the cushioning he'd put down, but John meant what he'd told Anna before. He would do anything for her.

She emerged from the bathroom in a high-necked, long sleeve gown that seemed to cover every inch of her. But the lamplight reflected through the thin material, and he could easily make out how thin she'd gotten since moving out of the cottage.

"Is there anything you need?" he asked, thinking about the biscuit she hadn't eaten with her tea.

Anna looked from the cot on the floor to the bed and then back at him. "Could I have another pillow?" she requested innocently. "I know you only sleep with one, so..."

John cocked his head in confusion, looking also at the cot and the bed. "I don't understand," he said. "I've only taken one pillow from the bed. You can have all the rest-"

"But you're not sleeping on the floor," Anna interrupted.

"Of course I am."

She shook her head firmly. "No, that's not what I thought you meant. Your back will be in knots for days and you'll get no relief from the pain in your leg. I could never ask that of you. I'll take the cot."

Something about the way Anna described his discomfort with no thought for her own struck him, and it struck him hard.

"You think I wouldn't suffer one night for you?" he asked, his emotions flaring up. Part of him wanted to tell her exactly what he would suffer for her sake, but he kept those thoughts to himself.

"I think you would suffer more for me than I could ever forgive myself for allowing," Anna responded.

Leaving her cryptic reply aside, he said, "You won't sleep on the floor. I'll either go down and sleep on the couch or I won't sleep at all tonight." His tone confirmed that he would not budge on this point.

Anna considered this position for a moment.

"Then we'll share the bed."

Her statement brought him up short as he'd already discarded that notion as unworkable. Anna could barely stand to be in the same room with him. How could she expect herself to share a bed with him? But the look she gave him was firm and unyielding.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. It is our only option."

After extinguishing the lights, they each got in their respective sides of the bed and John hugged the edge so as to give Anna as much room as possible. She did the same, and the resulting waste of space between them could have fit another person, or possibly a small child.

"I'll try not to touch you," he told her, and in the bit of moonlight coming through the window he saw her nod in response before they both drifted off to sleep.

* * *

John woke a few hours later. The room was still cast in darkness, but he felt a familiar warmth pressed against him. Blinking his eyes, he realized that without her conscious mind to stop her, Anna had gravitated towards his side of the mattress and spooned against him, with he on his side and her situated with her back against his chest. The contact between them was like a grazing touch, and when she took a breath, he could feel the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of their clothes.

They had not been together in a long time, not since before Anna had moved back upstairs at Downton. John found that he missed the simple physical contact with his wife as much as their more intimate moments, and he reveled in the feel of her lying so close to him.

Guilt entered his mind even as he thought about all the times they'd made love in that bed, with Anna enthusiastic and creative and him intent upon ensuring her pleasure. Unlike his first wife, Anna did not shy away from the sight of his body or his damaged leg when they were together. Aside from ensuring she was doing nothing to hurt him, she let her hand glide over his scarred skin just as she would any other part of him. Her kisses soothed old aches and healed his inner pain.

Sighing, John tried not to focus on how much he missed the simple touch of her hand.

But his thoughts, coupled with the warmth of her back brushing against him, was almost too much to bear, and he felt desire rearing up inside him. Tamping it down, he forced himself to imagine Anna as he'd seen her so often of late - sad, frightened, irritated, and alone. He knew he needed to find out what had happened to cause this change in his usually happy and vivacious wife, and he knew she needed to tell him.

But at least in that moment, Anna was there with him, safe and protected, getting some much needed rest.

* * *

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry this chapter took so long to post. First, I accidentally deleted the first draft. Ugh. I began re-writing it but of course that took extra time because I had to completely change what I'd written the first time around. Then I got interrupted by a week-long vacation with no internet access. But I'm back now and I do plan to finish this story and post others in the near future :) Thank you to everyone who's been kind enough to leave reviews. Your continued feedback makes it such a joy to write.**

* * *

When John woke up again the next morning, he realized immediately that Anna had again shifted in her sleep. This time, she lay curled against his side, her head nestled in the cradle of his shoulder with one arm wrapped over his chest. Their legs were hopelessly intertwined. He could not extract himself from the embrace without disturbing her slumber.

Instead, he waited, letting himself indulge in the warmth of her against him, the scent of her body, and the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. Not caring if they were both late to work, he let her sleep.

But only a few minutes passed before he felt her begin to stir. Her steady breathing faltered and became more irregular, even as she stiffened. The way her head lay on his chest, he could not see her face, but he guessed that she had woken and become aware of the position of their bodies.

John expected her to pull away, perhaps even forcefully. He assumed that her fear dictated the distance she kept from him and that finding herself so suddenly in his in his arms would alarm and startle her. Bracing himself for the sudden loss, he waited.

But Anna made no movement to pull away from him.

Instead, she moved the arm which was draped over him up from his side to the V of his shirt. Her fingers gently glided towards the dark hairs of his chest which peeked through the opening. Her hand shook slightly as it moved, hesitating several times, but eventually it reached its target.

First, she brushed her fingers across the dark hairs so softly that he could barely feel it. Then, less timidly, she increased the pressure until he could feel the tickling sensation in that small area of his chest. When she finally touched skin, he let out an involuntary gasp. She let her fingers linger there for a moment before moving her hand back over his shirt, resting it lightly over his rapidly beating heart.

"Are you uncomfortable?" he asked, his voice sounding loud in the still room despite his low tone. She tensed and he instantly regretted speaking, breaking the spell that seemed to encompass them.

He felt her move her head but could not tell which way. Just as he began to shift to see her better, Anna said, "No. I'm fine."

Her body remained molded against him, and slowly, as more minutes passed, she began to relax again. He could feel her warm breath through his shirt.

"I love you," she whispered finally, almost too quietly to hear.

"I love you, too," John responded, feeling a little confused by this sudden change in her behavior. "I regret that I cannot express how much, Anna. But I love you so."

She stiffened slightly against him but did not pull away. A moment later, he felt a bit of warm wetness dampen the fabric of his shirt near her eyes. Soon after, she spoke, and he could hear the tears in her voice. "If I ever lost you again... I couldn't bear it."

"You won't lose me," he told her.

Anna responded, "You can't promise that."

"I can promise to never willingly leave you."

He waited for her reply, and a moment later, he had it. "You can't promise that either. Not until you know the truth."

"Tell me the truth, Anna," John urged. But she said nothing, and he could feel her begin to shake from the force of silent sobs. "You are safe," he assured her. "I only want to help you. No matter what you have to tell me."

Even if it was adultery. Even if it was worse - if she'd fallen in love with another man and wanted to leave him. Even if what she had to tell him would tear his heart out and leave him to bleed to death. Watching her endure such internal agony was beyond his capacity; it had to end.

"I don't want to hurt you," Anna sniffled, pulling away from him suddenly.

He sat up, automatically reaching for her. She'd returned to her side of the bed, her back turned to him. As his hand touched her back, she stiffened but did not pull away. He could see the effort it took and realizing how difficult it must have been not to seek escape as soon as she'd woken, he removed his hand from her.

"It hurts me to see you this way. It hurts me not to know."

She went very still and quiet, and John waited. She taught him the true meaning of patience in that moment.

After a long time had passed, longer than any time John could have measured, she turned slightly back to him. He could see her face in profile but she did not meet his eyes.

"Do you remember the night I told you I fell and hit my head?" she asked.

"I remember."

Anna paused briefly, then continued, "I didn't hit my head. Someone followed me down to the kitchen."

"Green?" John interjected.

She hesitated before confirming, "Yes, it was him. He offered me alcohol but I refused. And then he said some things that made me feel uncomfortable."

"What things?"

She hesitated, clearly torn. He suspected that she was weighing whether or not to tell him the truth. When she answered, her voice wavered and broke.

"Things like... like showing me 'real fun' and... that you couldn't keep me happy."

John had a sinking feeling; he knew how this story would end. She still would not look at him.

"I tried to get by him, but he blocked me, and then he tried to make me kiss him."

Her voice fell silent for several moments, and John shifted his position so he could see her face better. But she turned away from him more. He wondered if it wasn't easier for her to tell him like this - safe in their home, in their bed, but not looking directly at him.

"What happened then?" John asked, although he could already visualize the scene. How had he not realized before?

"He... hit me. He grabbed me by the hair. He pulled me..."

Her voice drowned in sniffles as her crying resumed. John risked reaching out a hand to her, his fingers gently touching her hair - her blonde beautiful hair, pulled into a loose braid down her back for sleeping. She did not pull away from him, and he hoped that the gentle touch was a reminder that he would never hurt her.

"Where did he take you?" John asked, removing his hand. He did not care about the detail but wanting to give her a concrete starting place before telling the rest.

"The boot room."

He let out a shuddering sigh. How many nights had he stood next to her in that room since this then without knowing? How much had she been forced to relive, being in that room?

"Oh, Anna," he murmured.

"He threw me down and ripped at my... ripped my dress," she went on, her own voice faltering as she looked down at her hands. "And he... he..."

Her breaths came rapidly, as though she could not get enough air.

"It's okay," John told her gently. "You don't have to go on. I know."

He understood all too well. Between war and prison, he knew the vulnerability of women and how devastating such assaults could be. But never in his life had he ever thought Anna would be touched by such a crime. Not her, of all people.

As Anna cried, John's anger flared at Green for what he'd done to her. He understood in an instant why she was so afraid he'd murder the valet. His thoughts turned to violence even as his wife sat grief-stricken beside him. He wanted to lash out at Green, to take his anger out at the man responsible all of this, the man who had not only caused Anna physical and psychological pain but had wholly disrupted their lives.

It would be so easy to kill him, too. With Green at Downton, he could sneak into his room at night and strangle him in his sleep. Or slip a knife between his ribs in the hallway. Or drag him into the boot room and bash his skull against the table.

And then John would be arrested, he knew. He could see Anna's devastated face as they led him away again in handcuffs. He could hear her scream as he was sentenced to death. Again. And this time, there would be no reprieve. Indeed, once he was convicted of murdering the valet, everyone would assume he had actually killed Vera as well, no matter what the evidence showed, and that he simply could not control his murderous impulses.

Anna already had to go through life as the wife of a convicted murderer. He could not imagine the horror of casting her into that role a second time.

No, if he killed Green, he had to do it carefully. Secretly. He needed to make it look like a true accident, so it would never lead back to him.

Anna must have sensed the tension in his body because she turned towards him completely. For the first time that morning, he saw her face fully. While her eyes were puffy and red from crying, the dark circles she'd been sporting of late had faded greatly. But the dark clouds behind her blue eyes remained, and he could see her fear as stark and desperate as ever.

"Promise me you won't kill him," she said.

John knew that he could not make that promise, not knowing it would be an out-right lie.

"I won't let him get away with it," he told her.

He reached out to touch her cheek, but she flinched away, her eyes shutting automatically as though she expected a blow from his hand. A cold chill ran through John's veins at her reaction.

"You are not to blame for what happened, Anna," he told her.

"But I let it happen. You warned me about him, but I thought you were just jealous. I was such a fool."

"You aren't a fool," John said gently. "He is at fault in this, not you. You did nothing wrong. You don't deserve to have been put through so much..."

He'd kill Green. There was no way around it.

"Nor you," Anna lamented, barely getting her words out through her tears. "I've pushed you away because I couldn't stand for you to know. And because if you murder him, you'll be hanged. And it will be my fault..."

Her pain cut through him, shaking his resolve. "Anna-"

"I'd rather die," she stated firmly, forcing a voice of calmness amid her distress. "I'd rather die right here and now than see you go through that again."

She'd rather die than see him hanged for avenging her. He could barely process the flood of emotions running through him. Anger at Green warred with grief for his wife and the frustrating inability to reach out and touch her, to bring her into his arms both to seek and offer comfort. John wanted to take out his rage on the man who'd done this, but he also wanted to reassure Anna.

In the end, his concern for her won out.

"I promise I won't kill him," he stated with a heavy sigh.

"Truly, I couldn't bear it," she said, sensing the lie he felt in his heart at saying the words.

"I won't kill him," John said again. "I won't do anything to risk our future together."

Anna looked at him in the eye, as though searching him for a hint of untruth. Finally, accepting his vow, she said, "Thank you."

She looked so lost and alone sitting next to him - close but so very far away. The desire to give her physical comfort tugged at him painfully, like tiny hooks in his skin.

"Can I touch you?" he asked, on the verge of begging as he added a heartfelt, "please?"

Sniffling, Anna nodded. He reached out a hand to cover her shoulder, pausing as she froze at the contact. Waiting, he let her get used to the feel of him for a moment, not moving again until she'd relaxed. With exquisite care, he mirrored his other hand to her opposite shoulder. He could feel her slim frame trembling between his palms.

"Thank you for telling me," he said quietly, running his thumbs along her collar bones. "Thank you for trusting me."

As though he'd flipped a switch in her with his words, Anna dissolved once more into tears.

"Oh, Anna," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"No, I'm sorry," she said through painful sobs.

"You have no reason to be sorry," he told her.

Pulling back from him, Anna anguished, "But I am spoiled for you. And I can never be unspoiled."

The notion sounded so foreign to his ears that he felt his own eyes fill with tears that she could think such a thing. Spoiled? How could _she _ever be spoiled - truly, ever? Anna was the best woman he had ever known, the most kind and generous and... His heart ached at the thought of her hurting so much and believing such things about herself.

"You are not spoiled," John said automatically, moving his hands to cup her cheeks. He wanted her to see his face as he told her his feelings, and to wipe away her tears. "You are made higher to me and holier because of the suffering you have been put through. You are my wife, and I have never been prouder or loved you more than I do at this moment."

Anna had been through so much, and she'd suffered through it on her own because of her fear for him, both for what he would do and what would happen to him when he did. To think of her bearing the weight of such a burden on her own small shoulders for so long, because of her love for him... And he'd thought she no longer loved him, that she'd fallen for another man. What a fool he was not to see it sooner, not to recognize the reason behind her terror and anguish.

"Truly?" she asked timidly, reaching up one hand to touch his. She sounded so unsure, and yet so hopeful.

"Truly," he declared, wondering how she could doubt him. Anna was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Without her, his life would be empty, and worse still, he'd never know how empty it really was.

Voluntarily, she leaned forward and laid her head against his chest and John caught her with his arms, slipping them around to cradle her body against him. He let her cry like that as he moved a hand up to touch her hair, keeping his caress light and gentle.

After a long time had passed and her tears had subsided, Anna pulled away from him. "We need to get ready," she said, wiping at her face. "Lady Mary will be up soon."

John nodded, letting her slip out of the bed to get dressed. As his eyes followed her, he wondered how he could possibly get through the day without killing the man responsible for all her pain.

* * *

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I went differently than the show with having her tell Bates who attacked her, and mostly that was because I thought the whole plot device of her not telling her husband _anything_ because she thought he would immediately go murder the man was a bit... trite. I can see her fear of him going back to prison verging on the irrational, but this is also the man Anna trusts more than anyone in the world. If he says he won't do it, he won't do it. Hopefully. **

**Anyway, here's the next chapter. Reviews are appreciated.**

* * *

The valet had no shame.

Green freely admitted to coming downstairs during Dame Nellie's concert, either not knowing or not caring that John would recognize right away what that fact meant. But he restrained himself. Anna looked at him and smiled, pretending as though her attacker had not just confirmed for everyone who knew what to listen for that he was present when she was assaulted.

John bit the inside of his lip and returned Anna's smile with a nod.

He wanted to kill the man. He needed to burn the light out of his eyes. The instinct flooded his veins as strongly as his addiction to the drink had done so many years before, and John had to shake himself to push the feelings away.

He couldn't kill Green. Not only had he promised Anna, but his own future and life would be on the line. While John had tried to convince his wife to go to the police, she'd begged off stating she had no proof of her accusations. And with the intervening months, she doubted they would believe her. Best to let things be, she'd stated. As if John could ever ignore what that vile man had done to her. As if he could sit there, night after night, and endure the man's presence even as he joked and charmed the other servants.

And then one night, when Lord Gillingham had come to call on Lady Mary again and brought Green with him, the perfect opportunity presented itself. The blasted fool would not stop talking, first insulting Scotland - and Mrs. Hughes by extension, the housekeeper shooting daggers at him with her eyes - and then bragging about Lord Gillingham's place in London. A simple question about his location set him off again, smirking and simpering to the others, but John listened carefully, filing away the information.

The conversation left everyone on edge, from Miss Baxter to Jimmy, as though everyone suspected the dramatic undercurrent of the conversation. Everyone except Mr. Green, of course. He went on blathering about himself for a while, and John listened keenly.

That night at the cottage, Anna confronted him.

"You promised you wouldn't do anything," she said once he'd firmly shut the door and bolted it shut.

Turning to her, he could see the fear in her eyes.

"I did promise," John said. "But having to see him at Downton so much... so close to you, acting as though nothing happened..."

At the very least, he longed to expose the blackheart before everyone, including all those below stairs who enjoyed his lively tales and marginally inappropriate jokes.

"I know it is difficult-" Anna began.

"Difficult?" he demanded. "It is everything I can do to keep from wringing the life out of him."

But as John met her eyes, he realized how self-centered he was acting. Of course things were worse for her. She had to see her attacker day after day, treating him politely and acting as though nothing untoward had occurred between them. Anna carried the shame of it at all times, as though she were to blame and not Green.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I cannot imagine how it is for you."

Anna was almost trembling, standing there listening to him. Quietly, she revealed, "I worry constantly. I'm so afraid of what you'll do to him, and what will happen to you if you do."

"I won't kill him," John said, reaffirming the vow he'd made to her before. She seemed unconvinced.

Looking him directly in the eye, she stated with utter finality, "If they take you - if you're hanged or if they lock you up again and throw away the key - I'll kill myself. I swear it."

All the breath left his body and all thoughts left his mind.

"Don't ever say that again," he told her sharply.

"It is the God's honest truth."

He closed his eyes, fighting away the images his mind conjured at her words. But he could not escape the thought of her sitting alone in their cottage, sobbing uncontrollably as she held a vile of poison or a knife, ready to do herself in. John shuddered.

"I won't kill him," he said again, more forcefully. "You don't have to threaten me to make me keep my promise. Your life is too precious to ever even consider such a thing."

Anna's lip trembled as she regarded him. "That's how I feel about you. Your life is precious to me."

His life was forfeit, he thought but did not say. The moment he had failed her, his life had become as meaningless as Green's. What use was he to her if he could not protect her? What did it matter if he ended his life in jail or peaceably in her their bed some day many years in the future if he could not keep her from harm?

But to Anna, it meant a great deal. To her, his life meant everything, and he hated to think what she would do if he went back on his word to her.

He risked touching her then, something they'd been working on together ever since that first night she'd stayed with him at the cottage. John knew how difficult it was for her to have another person so near to her, but she'd made every effort to see through the fear. She let him hold her hand now, almost freely, and at least once a day, she even reached out for him willingly, of her own accord.

Anna ducked her head as he found a stray lock of hair and tucked it behind her ear. She looked so beautiful this evening, and with every fiber of his being he wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her. But John settled for a gentle touch of her cheek, his fingers barely grazing her skin.

"I will do anything you ask of me," John informed her. "You know that, don't you? Anything you ask of me, I will do. Your bidding is my command."

He knew she would never ask him to avenge her with Green, not given how much she worried about him drawing attention from the law. But if he could offer her something, some relief or request or need she had gone unfulfilled...

"Just be patient with me," Anna requested. "You've been terribly patient so far, and I know this must be so difficult for you, how I am-"

"It isn't difficult," he interrupted, "not now that I know the truth. And I will be patient. Anna, you set the rules between us, and you set the pace. I won't push you, not in anything."

"Thank you. Thank you for being so understanding."

John shook his head. "You don't have to thank me."

"But I do-"

"You don't," he told her firmly. "I love you and I want only for you to get through this, for us to get through it together."

Looking down, Anna confided, "I'm not sure if I can ever be the same as I was before..."

He nodded in understanding. The war had changed him - not just the injury stealing away his ability to walk properly, but the horror of it raked at his humanity, crumbling the edges of his honor to the point that he did not recognize himself. John told her, "We are all changing, every moment of our lives. It doesn't mean we aren't the same people, deep inside. And you could never change, Anna, not the parts of you I fell in love with. Your kindness, your loyalty, your beauty - both inside and out..."

She lowered her eyes at the compliment, but she did not contradict him. And as John watched her, he saw a smile overtake her lips, almost as though she could not keep it at bay.

"I was so worried you'd see me differently," Anna said shyly. "I knew you wouldn't set me aside. You're too good a man for that, but..."

He'd heard of men who blamed their wives and sweethearts in such situations, who insisted that such assaults were either their fault or falsehoods to disguise unfaithfulness. But John could not conceive of purposely leaving Anna, not for this reason or any other within his control. He'd been separated from her on two prior occasions - when he left with Vera to protect Anna's reputation and save Lord Grantham's family from scandal, and when he had been arrested and forcibly imprisoned. Neither time had he left her willingly.

This past separation had been all Anna. She had moved out of their home and given him the cold shoulder. He'd barely survived the pain of it.

"I consider myself the luckiest man on earth to have you as my wife," John stated simply. "And I will not leave you unless you tell me to go."

Shaking her head, her eyes shone with moisture. "I don't want you to go. In fact, I would like to move back to the cottage. Permanently."

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm sure. If you'll have me back."

He sighed at her statement. "If I'll have you back? Of course... Anna, all I want in this life is to be with you. However, whatever, whenever."

Smiling at the memory of the first time he'd said those words to her, Anna blinked back her tears. "Thank you."

"I told you before, you don't have to thank me-"

"But I do," she insisted. "You've been so good to me, through all of it, even before I told you what happened. I don't think I could have survived it if you hadn't been here for me."

Reaching down, she took his hand in hers and brought it to her face. Accepting her silent invitation, he stroked her cheek, taking a step forward so he could smooth her hair with his other hand. "Of course I'm here for you. I love you, Anna. I love you."

She let him hold her again, and John realized that simple act had been forever transformed in his mind from a mundane embrace into one of the most intimate things two people could share.

* * *

When Green finally left, their lives went back to normal, or the closest thing to normal they had been since the attack. Anna moved back to the cottage and they began the process of rebuilding their life together, one day at a time. John quickly found that his wife's emotions continued to fluctuate. But with his newfound understanding of what drove her behavior, he had a better idea of what to do to help. And Green's absence helped.

But as the weeks passed and Anna seemed to get better, his own guilt grew. He realized after Anna told him that while Green had been in the boot room violating his wife, he sat upstairs listening to the concert, completely unaware. The one time in his life he truly could have been of use to Anna, he'd failed miserably. While she was absolved of blame for what occurred, John was not.

He ran the scenario endlessly in his mind. She had a headache during the concert and went down to the kitchen to take a powder. He waited for her up in the concert, even remarking to Mrs. Hughes when she'd been gone for a while that she must have fallen asleep.

Fallen asleep - his Anna? How could he have been such a fool? Why hadn't he gone down to check on her? Why hadn't he gone down with her for the powder? John remembered wanting to but stopped himself for fear of lingering resentment that he interrupted the card game, the one organized by the very same Mr. Green.

But his reasons for not going down with her did not matter, only the fact that he didn't. And in his absence, she was attacked. John wondered if she cried out for him that night, if she called his name in hopes that he would save her. In his dreams he sometimes heard her screaming and when he woke, the sound still rung in his ears.

Whenever Anna was with him, John pushed away the guilt so he could focus entirely on her. He spent hours each day just trying to keep track of her moods. Her needs came first, and then her wants, and finally, if he had any time or energy or inclination, he saw to himself. Living for her became his sole purpose in life, both his penance and his reward.

"Are you alright?" she asked him late one night when they sat across from each other at the kitchen table in the cottage, only the light of the lamp separating them.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" he asked her with a small smile.

"You ask me every day," Anna responded. "I almost never ask you. I've been selfish, really, thinking only of myself."

"I don't think anyone would ever describe you as selfish," John observed.

"But I am. All of this has been difficult for you as well as me."

The difference, John knew, was that it truly was much worse for her. And more, he deserved all the anguish he experienced at knowing what had happened to her. After all, he should have been there to protect her. She suffered because of his failure as both a man and a husband.

But he gave no voice to those feelings. Instead, he told her, "Please don't concern yourself with me."

"Who else would I concern myself with?" she asked bluntly.

"I don't want you to worry," John explained. "You have enough on your mind."

Anna looked at him, her brow furrowed. "Tell me," she implored.

"It's nothing."

But she persisted, and he could see in her eyes that she would not let it go.

Finally, he admitted, "I just can't get over how badly I failed you. I should have been there to stop it."

"There was no way you could have known-" she began, but he interrupted her, his skin crawling at the sound of her defending him.

"It is my responsibility to protect you," John declared forcefully. "Instead I sat upstairs, enjoying the music."

He could see the absolution in her eyes - to her, he held no share of guilt in what had occurred.

"You have no reason to blame yourself," Anna scolded him mildly.

"And yet, I do blame myself."

Nothing she said after that dissuaded him from the notion. He carried it with him like Jacob Marley's chain and even as Anna seemed to come back to herself more and more, he felt weighted by the ever-increasing burden of guilt. He lay awake with it at night, the images his mind conjured of Anna's attack taunting him every time he tried to shut his eyes.

Finally, some weeks later, John could stand no more of it. From Anna's accounts of Lady Mary's suitors, Lord Gillingham would likely continue to visit Downton, with his filthy valet in tow. He'd promised Anna that he would not murder the man, and he'd done so with the intent to keep that vow. But even the mention of Green's name in the servants' hall set her back for days, causing her to bury her emotions and completely eradicating any chance for joy she might have.

It had to end. This torment of his gentle, innocent wife had to end.

John's chance came when Lady Mary went to London, taking Anna with her. With Lord Grantham still out of the country, Mr. Carson had no reason to deny him a day's leave. He made up a story about getting away to York, implying that he wanted to buy Anna some special present. The excuse was enough to get him to the train station, and from there he did travel to York, taking care to leave early in the morning.

Once in York, he wasted no time in buying a ticket to London. Green had been stupid enough to supply him with the information he needed in tracking the valet. A plan had already formed in his mind.

He hated betraying Anna's trust, but there were some things that a man simply could not endure.

* * *

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I was kind of hesitant on this chapter because I think the motives and forces driving Bates are very complex. On the one hand, he wants to keep his promise to Anna, but on the other, he really can't just let this go. So, warning for some violence in this chapter.**

**Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter. They really provide inspiration and encouragement.**

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He waited until the man left the building, standing in the shadow of an alley a block away. The man approached his direction, so he immediately set off to meet him, moving with no great speed or purpose. By the time the other man saw him, they were only a handful of steps apart.

Recognition dawned in Green's eyes with more than a hint of alarm.

John hoped it was fear.

"Mister Green," he greeted his fellow valet, feigning both surprise and friendliness.

"Mister Bates," Green acknowledged flatly. "Fancy meeting you in London."

"What an interesting coincidence," John agreed.

"Well I'd love to stay and chat, but I have somewhere I need to be."

He moved to go around but John stepped in his way. "Actually, now that I've run into you, there's something I would speak to you about."

"I really don't have time-"

"_Make _the time," John ordered, his easy manner sliding off like the façade on a building. He glared at Green with the hard eyes of a man not to be denied.

Green glanced around, perhaps taking in the openness of the public street. "Just a moment then," he said, gesturing to the alley where John had been waiting. They walked to just the edge of the space between the two buildings, slightly away from the hustle and bustle of the busy sidewalk, but not so far as to have real privacy.

"What can I do for you, Mister Bates?"

"You can start by telling me what you did to my wife."

Green sputtered at his brazenness. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about," he said, plastering on a phony smile.

"I think you do."

"I'm not sure what she told you, but-"

"She may have told me, but you confirmed it," Bates said.

"What?"

"The night of Dame Nellie's performance, you said you went downstairs to get away from the music. Everyone heard you. That makes you the only other person down there at the time Anna was attacked."

Green chuckled at the accusation, as though it were all a joke. "Is she saying it was rape? I'm afraid a lot of married women say that when confronted by their husbands-"

"Are you saying it wasn't?" John challenged.

Giving a pretentious shrug, Green defended, "We both had a little too much to drink. One thing led to another. But she wanted it, I'll tell you that."

"No, she didn't. And she wasn't drunk. Neither were you."

Maybe it was the tone of John' voice or the hard set of his jaw. Maybe it was the heavy brass knob of the cane held tightly in his right hand - not his usual cane. Or maybe it was the look of murder in his eyes.

But Green suddenly realized that his situation was much more serious than he thought. And the man confronting him was much more dangerous than the sad old cripple he'd assumed.

"I'm afraid I have to go," he began, but John swung his cane out to block the way.

"You aren't leaving until I'm done," the older man spat. "Or I go from here straight to the police."

"You don't have any proof."

This time, John smiled at him, the tight-lipped smirk of a predator whose prey just came into range.

"Do you know anything about me, Mister Green?"

"Besides you being a cripple who lives off the kindness of his employers, not much, no."

"So you don't know I was imprisoned for murder. And theft before that," he stated.

Green's eyes widened but he said nothing.

"You don't know that I fought in the African War beside Lord Grantham. That's where I was injured, by the way."

Again, Green remained silent.

"And you don't know how very much I love my wife." John went on, "You see, Mister Green, I know you raped Anna because she never would have been with you willingly. She's too good of a woman to ever be unfaithful. And she loves me. She loves me so much she wouldn't tell me what you did to her for fear of what _I'd_ do to _you_."

The younger valet stared at him in definite unease. "You wouldn't dare lay a finger on me, Mister Bates-"

Swiftly and casually, as though he were simply gesturing as he spoke, John swung the cane out, bringing the heavy knob down at an angle which slammed into the side of Green's knee. Hard. The other man went to the ground, barely catching himself on his hands before his face landed on the alley cobblestones.

"You bastard-" he protested, and fast as lightening, John flipped the cane around and slammed the tip down onto the back of Green's hand.

The valet screamed, attracting the attention of a few passersby on the street. But taking one look at John's hard expression, they walked on, obviously not wanting to get involved.

"Make no mistake, Mr. Green - you will pay for what you've done. It may not be today, and it may not be tomorrow. But it will happen, and it will happen soon."

He stepped back and waited for Green to get up from the ground. The younger man scrambled up and away from him, clutched at his injured hand and favoring the knee John had hit with his cane. Fear shone bright and brilliant in his eyes.

"You'll never get away with it," he said unsteadily.

John stepped forward, forcing him to hobble backwards. Green angled his body so that he could back out of the alley, away from John. They continued that way until they were out on the sidewalk. People walked around them, paying no attention to their conversation.

"Who says I haven't already?" John asked. Green took another step back, getting closer to the street. Cars and lorries whipped by, making it difficult for him to hear. "And even if I don't get away with it, that's fine. I'll go back to prison for Anna. Or I'll go to the hangman. I'd do that for her, you know. But what I will not do is permit you to live on the same earth with her you filthy piece of scum."

The force of John's hate could have translated into a physical blow, but he did not touch the valet. Rather, Green stepped back again in his effort to get away from John even though the older man had stopped advancing several steps away. But Green had gotten too close to the edge of the curb. As he continued to retreat, one last step, his heel met dead space.

Perhaps if it hadn't been the leg that was still weak from the blow from John's cane. Perhaps if he'd been focused on his footing rather than on the man in front of him. Perhaps if he hadn't done a lot of things.

Green stumbled backward into the street. Barely a second passed - just enough time for him to realize his mistake - before he was hit by a fast-moving bus. The driver did not even have time to brake.

In the ensuing chaos of the accident, John faded back to the side of the building by the alley. No one noticed him and he made no move to make a quick escape that might attract attention.

No one noticed him except an old man sitting on a bench just a few feet from the edge of the alley. The man was close enough to have heard his entire conversation with Green, and to have seen what occurred between the men on the sidewalk.

John looked down at the old man. The old man looked back up at him, then out at the crowd of people gathering around Green's body twisted unnaturally under the wheels of the bus. His expression was unreadable.

"That's what comes of having all these autos around," the old man commented finally. John raised an eyebrow at him. "Everyone in such a hurry... people get hurt."

"People do get hurt," John acknowledged.

"Was a shame, what I overheard about your wife," the old man said softly.

"Yes, it is a shame." He paused, not sure how he could possibly explain himself to this stranger. Finally, John revealed, "I promised my wife I wouldn't kill him."

The old man looked at him curiously. "She cares for him so much?"

John shook his head. "She fears for me, that I might be hanged for the crime."

He nodded in understanding. John stood there next to him for a few moments more. But when they heard the sound of a police siren approaching in the distance, the old man said, "No crime committed here today, just an accident, plain and simple. But perhaps you should be gettin' on your way, mister. Wouldn't want anyone to get the wrong idea."

John let out a breath as he realized the old man would not be reporting him to the police.

"Yes, I probably should," John agreed.

"Good luck to you, sir," the man said with complete sincerity. "And good luck to your missus."

Favoring the man with a nod, John turned to make his way down the sidewalk, away from the scene in the street. The people he passed paid no attention to him, their eyes on the crowd gathered around the bus and Green's body, stretching and ducking to get a glimpse of the carnage. He walked on until he found a taxi that would take him back to the train station.

* * *

Anna suspected him, John knew. But he could live with her unease knowing Green would never again be able to threaten her or make her life uncomfortable with his presence. John could read the relief in her eyes, could see it in the set of her shoulders the moment she'd told him about Green's death, having heard it from Lady Mary via Lord Gillingham.

The valet's death did not help everything, of course. Anna still suffered from nightmares occasionally. John would wake her in the middle of the night when she cried out, a single hand on her arm so as not to frighten her. She refused to confide the substance of those dreams, but John knew what they were. He knew who featured in them, and when she skimmed her fingers over his shirt until she found the hairs of his chest, he finally understood.

"He wasn't like you," Anna told him, in the dark hours of the morning after the moon had disappeared but before the sun had risen. "He wasn't as soft, or as dark. I'm not sure if he even had any hair here."

On many nights, he let her run her fingers across his chest, calming herself with each pass over the curly, dark strands. John grew used to the tickling sensation and even reveled in her touch despite it setting his nerve endings on fire and alighting every inch of skin on his body.

"I never feared you," Anna told him quietly as she drifted off to sleep, "because I knew you would never hurt me. No matter what, I knew that much. You would never hurt me."

On one such night she woke from a nightmare, her tension and uneven breathing bringing him out of the light sleep he'd perfected in Africa. John waited, listening to her movements but not reaching out lest he frighten her.

After a few moments, she asked in a quiet voice, "Are you awake?"

"Yes. Did you have a bad dream?"

"I'm sorry I woke you," Anna responded.

He offered, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

He felt her fingers questing out, brushing the fabric of his nightshirt. Gently he grasped them, guiding her hand to his chest, letting her feel the skin at the gap in his shirt. John felt her relax almost immediately at the familiar touch.

Despite her denial, Anna volunteered, "It was about him. About what he did."

"You're safe now," John assured her. "He can never hurt you again."

"I know."

He knew as well as anyone that Green's death would not stop her nightmares. Perhaps nothing could except the reassuringly mundane passage of time.

"I love you," he told her, speaking into the darkness as he let his hand cover hers.

She answered, "I love you, too. More than anything in this world."

They lapsed into silence then and John kept quiet and still, hopeful that his wife would fall back asleep and get a few more hours of rest before they had to be at work again.

But such was not to be.

"Did you go to London to kill him?" Anna asked, her tone so light and lacking in accusation that he almost did not understand her.

"What?" he said automatically.

"You heard."

John hesitated, mentally warring over how much to confess to his wife. He had promised her, and he worried what she would think of him if she knew the truth of his intentions.

"I didn't go there to kill him," he said finally.

"Then why did you go?"

Sighing, John told her, "To frighten him. To make sure he knew that I knew. I didn't want him coming back here."

He spoke the truth, John suddenly realized. He truly had no intention of actually murdering Green, though the valet deserved nothing less than his full wrath. While the events leading to the man's death were certainly set in motion by his actions, he could muster no guilt over them.

"And did you?" she asked. "Did you frighten him?"

"Yes," he answered simply. "Perhaps too much. He fell, but I didn't push him."

"Then it was an accident," he heard Anna sigh with obvious relief.

"I played a part in it, but yes, it was an accident," John confirmed. "I didn't intend for him to die."

Somehow, it seemed important to him that she know she was not the wife of a murderer. He had killed men in the war, of course, but war was different. And even if most of England considered him guilty of the murder of his first wife, Anna knew him to be innocent. And while John had committed a number of sins in his life, including some that could be labeled crimes, he was not a murderer.

Anna's concern seemed to lie in a slightly different direction.

"I worried about you being arrested. But that wasn't all of it," she whispered. "I hated the thought of you staining your soul with such an act because of me."

John let out a ragged breath as he processed her statement. Her love for him never failed to incite amazement, even after so much time.

"I would do anything for you, Anna," he told her sincerely.

"No, you wouldn't," she countered strongly. He felt her fingers twitch against his skin, slipping through the soft strands of his chest hair as they curled into a small fist. "You wouldn't hurt or kill innocent people just because I asked it. You wouldn't rob a bank or set fire to a building or betray your country based on my will alone."

She had a point. Such irrational demands would not bring mute acceptance on his part. He never did a thing without having a very good reason. And besides - "You would never ask me to do such things."

"Exactly."

The word came out roughly, almost harshly, the key to Anna's entire resistance to telling him of the assault which had been committed on her. Even with a good reason, a very good reason, she would not ask him to commit violence on her behalf, both because of the legal risk to him but also because she would not burden his soul with such vengeance.

"I'm already a criminal," John reminded her gently. She did not need to shield him from that element.

"Not to me you aren't. And I would not want you to ever violate your own honor for my sake. I know you would do so, I know that," she assured him. Her closed fist nestled in the V of his shirt suddenly relaxed and her hand reached up to rest along his cheek. "But I don't want you to. I don't need your sacrifices, John. I only need the man who is willing to make them."

Turning his head, he brought her palm to his lips, kissing it gently. "I will hold my sacrifices for now," he assured her, "until you need them."

"Hopefully I never will," Anna said.

"Hopefully," he agreed.

* * *

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: This is the final chapter to this story and I'm upping the rating to "M" for this chapter to be on the safe side. Thanks to everyone who has been so good as to leave a review or PM me.**

* * *

They did not make love again for a long time. But she let him hold her at night, wrapping her in his arms as he whispered reassurances in her ears. Anna told him often how much she loved the sound of his voice, and that if she could, she would fall asleep to it every night and wake to it every morning. He instilled in her a sense of calm and safety that nothing could rival.

When they did attempt intimacy once more, many months later, John moved slowly and with exquisite care. She stopped him, overcome with a flashback, and he did not press for it again. He'd already resolved himself to a notion - that if Anna never again let him touch her in such a way, he could live with it. He could content himself with the sight of her beautiful face and the thoughts of her gorgeous mind. The simple feel of her in his arms was enough. He'd existed for years on less. After all, if the very thought of his touch against her naked body repulsed and frightened her, how could he possibly ask her to endure it?

But one day, one ordinary, extraordinary day, something changed. Or rather, nothing changed, but Anna relaxed enough to approach him once more. With her usual tenacity, she walked back to the cottage with him on one of their rare half-days together, holding his free hand in hers most of the way. Locking the door behind them when they arrived, she helped him off with his suit jacket. The summer afternoon left him overheated and he was glad for the relief.

But one look in Anna's eyes set his entire body ablaze with desire. He expected her to hesitate, to touch him with tentative hands and trembling lips. But she seemed more determined than that, unbuttoning his dress shirt as they stood together just inside the front door of the cottage.

"Anna..." John attempted when he understood what she was about, but she paid him no heed. She removed his shirt with the efficiency of a woman long accustomed to the movement, pulling the braces from his shoulders.

"I want you," she declared without a hint of timidity. The afternoon sun still shone through the filmy fabric of their curtains. She tugged at the neck of his undershirt, pulling it down far enough to place a gentle kiss on his chest, just below his chin - the same spot she so often explored at night with her fingers.

Unable to deny her anything, John let him lead her up to their bedroom, all the while struggling to control his own growing desire for her. It had been so long, and just the thought of this finally happening once more heated his blood.

Once within the safe confines of their four bedroom walls, Anna undressed herself quickly. John watched, unable to take his eyes off of her. His wife had always been a particularly beautiful woman, and the years since their marriage had only sharpened his appreciation of her full and slender form. She'd lost weight after the attack, he knew, but she seemed to have regained most of it.

"Will you help me?" she asked, presenting him with the laces of her corset. He loosened the strings with trembling hands, but his fingers remembered the process despite not having done it in a very long time.

"Anna, we don't have to do this," he told her once she'd removed the corset, before she could pull off her chemise.

"Don't you want to?" she asked, her voice suddenly timid and unsure.

Knowing she needed reassurance, John explained, "'Want' is not a strong enough word to depict how much I desire you in this moment. But I need you to know that we don't have to if you aren't ready."

"But I am ready," Anna said confidently, stepping towards him. "I've been thinking about it for days. I miss what we used to share."

He let out a sigh at the thought of his wife considering this for days. He already felt the need for her swirling wildly within him, a primal thing that grew of its own accord. It settled in the pit of his stomach but tendrils reached out through his body, burning his skin from the inside out with the need to touch her.

"I miss it too," he admitted softly. With careful hands, he reached out and around her, helping her remove the pins from her hair, an old ritual they used to share. He so loved the feel of her soft hair, the blonde curls cascading down her back that few others ever got to see. "We should take things slowly. Get used to each other again."

"That sounds nice," she purred as she walked them backwards toward the bed. "Slow is nice."

The back of his legs hit the mattress, and he sat down on it heavily, Anna still in front of him, her fingers playing with the neck of his undershirt as she looked lovingly down at him. John allowed his own hands to explore, finding their way up the bottom of her chemise to run along the smoothness of her shapely legs. He sensed her hesitation as his touch moved high up the outside of her thigh, but she did not pull away.

Instead, Anna regained her own control of the situation by stripping off his undershirt and pants, forcing him to abandon his exploration, at least momentarily. But then she surprised him by removing her own last layers and laying down with him on the bed, each of them facing the other on their sides.

"Tell me if you want me to stop at any point," John advised her, leaning over to kiss her soft lips. Her only response was to kiss him back fervently.

For a time, he just kissed her, exploring and teasing her with his mouth. She tasted like honey from afternoon tea and her soft warmth left him aching with desire for her.

As she kissed him back, Anna let her hands roam down his chest, his arms, across his shoulders. She seemed to map every inch of him that she could reach, as though assuring herself that the man before her was indeed her husband and no one else. He waited to see if she would stop him, but she did not.

When he finally touched her - just a graze of his hand against her bare neck - she gasped slightly at the sensation, and he immediately pulled away. "No, don't," Anna said quickly, bringing his hand back to her. "It feels nice."

Taking her at her word, John touched her again, running his fingers along her collarbone, his thumb tracing lacy circles against her pale skin. His hands traveled further south, following his eyes as he re-explored his wife's body in earnest - gradually, patiently, and slowly.

The tension built as he touched and then tasted, listening to her sighs and moans for any sign that he should stop. And periodically Bates would pause in his ministrations to give her a moment, speaking to her in a low voice so full of passion that it sounded rough to his own ears. But he wanted to remind her that she was safe, that he would never hurt her.

She did not stop him.

Finally, unable to take the teasing and gentle touching any longer, Anna urged him to return to her arms. "I'm ready," she assured him breathlessly. "I want you."

And he wanted her. He wanted her so badly that he ached all over with the need to be with her.

"Would you rather..." he began, gesturing with one hand, silently asking if she'd rather have control of the situation than his weight on top of her.

But Anna shook her head. "No, I want to do it this way. I trust you."

"Stop me if I-"

"I know," she cut him off, and then silenced him with her mouth on his. She kissed him until he joined their bodies, and at her distinct gasp, he froze. Keeping most of his weight on his forearms, he looked down at her, studying her face.

Anna's eyes were closed and her forehead scrunched in what he thought was concentration. He felt her hands travel up his sides to fill the space between them, resting against his chest. At first he thought she intended to push him away, and he began to shift his weight off of her.

"No, don't," she said, her eyes opening instantly. "I just need to feel you."

John waited as she grew used to the feel of him, her fingers traveling across the expanse of soft, dark hairs on his chest. He could tell when she was ready - her hands moved lower, urging him on.

He took his time, making slow movements at first which gradually built on the already intense need they both felt. Watching for any sign that Anna wanted him to stop, he continued with faster motions, periodically leaning down to capture her lips or groan her name as he buried his face in her loose hair.

When she came to pleasure first, he almost stopped, his sudden worry at hurting her overcoming what his mind already knew. But Anna did not let him, did not let go of him as she arched against his body and called his name. The sound and feel of her all but did him in and he followed behind her a few moments later.

Afterwards, they lay together, spent from the activity. The sun still shone outside and distantly John could hear birds singing when the wind did not play between the cottages. he had shifted them so that he lay on his back with her curled against him, a better position for Anna so she could pull away from him if she so desired. But she gave no indication of wanting to separate as they dozed in the afternoon light.

"I missed that," Anna confessed. Her fingers traced circles against his skin, his shirtless state no longer confining her explorations to the small space previously allowed to her.

"Me too," John admitted, not sure if he should keep the feeling to himself. He had no wish to pressure Anna for physical intimacy, not even by implication. "But I also missed this," he told her, squeezing the arm wrapped around her.

The simple intimacy of cuddling with Anna, skin on skin, had no comparison in John's memory. Even early in his marriage to Vera, such gentleness was lost amid the tumultuous passion they initially shared, followed swiftly either by sleep or returning to whatever occupied them before the urge struck. The few times he'd reached for her hoping for gentleness, she'd snapped at or ridiculed him. And John's other partners, both the girls he'd known in his youth and the women he'd forgotten during his days as a drunkard, had not indulged in soft embraces and pillow talk.

No, Anna was special. She alone informed his understanding of the physical acts they shared as making love - not only the sweet pleasure of release but the simple joy of lying with her afterward.

"I hope you know now that you can share anything with me," John told her quietly after a time. "You don't ever have to suffer that burden alone as long as I am here."

Anna nodded. "I know."

The movement of her hand on his chest gradually stilled, and she rested it over his heart. A calm quiet drifted over them, and John found his eyes growing heavier as fatigue set in. He only ever seemed to sleep well when Anna was in his arms.

"I won't push you away again," she told him softly.

"Good," he answered, fighting to stay awake so he could continue to look on her and listen to her voice. But the combination of the lazy afternoon, her warmth against him, their earlier activities, and the previous months of worry and fear had finally caught up with him.

"Sleep, my love," Anna whispered to him soothingly. "Sleep and dream of me."

And he did.

* * *

_fin_


End file.
